Shallow Waters
by CammyWhammy
Summary: "The boys wanted to haul the body over the cliff. I had wanted to keep him on the beach, to watch the tide come up and wash him away, but the boys just loved throwing things over the cliff." Psychological thriller take on Peter Pan's character.
1. Chapter 1

The boys wanted to haul the body over the cliff. It took two or three of them at least just to carry it up the hill in the first place. His ridiculous garments catching at every thorned bush and branch. I had wanted to keep him on the beach, to watch the tide come up and wash him away, but the boys just loved throwing things over the cliff. They hauled with resolution, and their excitement climbed at the thought of this huge weight toppling over the edge of the ravine. We neared the top, and I crowed, signaling the little ones at the mountain top that the game was won, and the feast would begin. Shrill shrieks emerged from above and I knew they were waiting for me to emerge, hands red with success.

I scaled the crest of the mountain first, happily receiving a well-deserved welcome from my little lost boys who bounded from the tree house to meet the rest of the big ones. The tree house was the largest tree on the mountain top. The trunk was hollow, and the roots of the tree were so ingrained in the landscape of the cliff that they toppled over the edge, and even crept beneath and between the rocks, splitting them precariously. Excited little ones joyously tried to partake in carrying the weight of the body, each craving part in the tossing over the cliff. The big ones pushed them aside, eager to toss over as much weight as they could off the edge without having to share. Undeterred by their pushing, the littles persisted until Nibs got fed up and kicked the largest little, leaving the rest of his little gang hesitant to continue their game. The littles then funneled their excitement by starting a dance. They had seen the killing from the top, and now re-enacted the battle. They all began jeering at a boy and isolated him, using him as target for the enemy. It was almost strange how the littles chose their victim, as if they had a collective thought and knew the weakest among them without having to speak it out loud. A boy with a cleft lip was tossed and prodded among them with sticks. The bigs, too, began to shift with aggression. Slightly was kicked aside, being the littlest big, and the rest sped up towards the cliff before he could retake the weight he had worked hard to carry up the mountain. Nibs and Curly then eagerly took the hands and feet of the body and began to swing it, each swing growing in sway as the huge weight oscillated between them. The rest of the boys jumped and hooted as they watched, anticipating the throw. Then Nibs screamed,

"One, two, three!"

At his signal, the body was flung as far out from the rocks of the ravine as possible. The boys all rushed to the edge, some even almost knocking each other over at the excitement of seeing the body hit the ground below. The game was to get a clear shot, no rocks, just air, and a puff of dust as it hit the sandy soil below. There was already a little clearing made by the frequent tossing of the bodies, where most of them landed, and it was with happy rejoicing that they saw the huge body of Captain Hook flew farther than those before, and toppled into the thickets past the clearing. It was with great satisfaction as the body they had thrown the day before was a sore disappointment, and had become entangled in the vines of the cliff. Inciting no hunt. But today, there would be a hunt, for the body had landed clear of the rocks, and into the greenery. As if a dinner bell had been rung, little brown creatures rushed from dark corners of the greenery to inspect the body. I raised my weapon in signal.

"A hunt!" I screamed. All of the boys rushed to grab a sharp object; a knife, a blade, a spear, and all began to race down the mountain as fast as their feet could take them. It was always like this, the bodies attracted the pigs, they would become trapped in the ravine, and the boys would feast on them. The boys could not help but holler, and some pigs, wise to the warning, made to dash with whatever scrap of meat they could grab. It was of little consequence as there were so many pigs and the ravine was U shaped, trapping the panicked pigs against the cliff wall. As easily as the littles found the weakest among them, the boys collectively spotted the weakest pigs, and sought to kill them off. It was an inexplicable instinct. A knack of the wild. The killing began, and the scenery echoed with shouting and squealing. When all the pigs had scattered, the boys cried with success and counted their kill.

The largest pig of the hunt was strapped to the spears, and carried up the mountain. Curly screamed in glory as he had killed it. The rest of the killed pigs were excess and were left in little red pools on the soil. Nibs grabbed my arms and raised them in celebration, I in turn grabbed his arms and raised them above his head in comradery. He is my best friend, my second in command, and of all the boys, I crave his respect the most. Time does not pass on the island, everyday was if I never had lived a day before. There were no bad days, because if something did not go right, we would simply forget about it, or just pretend it never happened. In this way, our life was happy. We played our games, and had our adventures, and nothing could get in the way of our fun. This was our home, our Neverland. It was strange, then, that Nibs began to feel larger to me. In one of our recent scrambles, he had shouted out orders to the boys without me having told him to do so. This made me so angry that I had cut him on the cheek with my dagger. Now Nibs always asked, and we were friends again. But I could not help but feel bitter that he had raised my arms up without letting me approach him first. It made me feel weakened by him, and I wondered if I could spar him later to set him right. A fight on the horizon, and a feast fast approaching, I shouted into the ravine, relishing in its echo.

At reaching the tree house, the boys prepared to feast. A stack of wood was quickly being collected at the firepit, and the boys prepared the spit for the pig. They all sang a song that they had heard from the pirates as the bigs gutted the pig, and the littles danced and played. The song was complete nonsense as none of the boys had gotten close enough to a happily singing pirate to ask for the words. It was a jumble of guessed syllables and undulations. Pig gutted, firepit prepared, I raised my arms to silence them. As leader of the Lost Boys, it was my responsibility to light the fire. A pistol lighter hung from a throng on my neck, and I pulled it carefully over my head as if it was a sacred artifact. The boys awed as I flicked its flame, and sparks flew to the dry wood, eating slowly until it devoured the stack in fire.

No one noticed, or cared, that one of the boys had not returned yesterday. I had already forgotten until he came stumbling up the mountain that evening, drawn to the fire and feast. It was one of the twins. I hated him. I hated how foolish it made me feel to see one, and then another just like him somewhere else. I wished that he had stayed gone. The twin seemed uneasy, as if the Lost Boys would not accept him back, but his brother recognized him, and the memory of him was still fresh enough to be remembered. The littles began to play with him, offering to be pigs while he could chase and hunt them down. The twin did not want to play, and the littles pushed at him in displeasure, pretending to stick him with spears.

The mood darkened. It was not often that a Lost Boy did not want to play, but when they didn't, it never meant good news. The twin looked to the others, unsure, and began to draw in breaths and catching eyes, as if looking to speak to them collectively. I pointed at him, and at seeing my gesture, the boys quieted and turned their attention to him. Being given the floor, the twin spoke.

"I know… I know this will sound strange." He began. We had seen this before. It was an illness, a curse that befell Lost Boys from time to time. The twin looked to his brother, and his brother looked at him sorrowfully, knowing his sibling had stepped into a grave.

"There really is shallow water…." He said. The littles began to growl. "No, please listen for once! The other boy was right, we can walk across the water! We can get off this island! We can go home!" He began frantically, looking to his brother for acknowledgement. The brother looked to the rocks, as if he could not hear him. I spoke, trying to break him from his delusion.

"This is our home, you've been talking to the mermaids. You're trying to drown us all." I tried to reason with him. The twin shook his head.

"Peter… please, the water…" The littles barked like dogs in anticipation. The game was on, and some even preemptively squeezed their little hands around their weapons. The twin, sensing failure looked to lock eyes with his brother, who still ignored him. "I want to go home, William. I'm not going without you!" Said the twin. His brother looked at him. This was it. The signal to kill. If a Lost Boy no longer wanted to play, it was over. He ceased to be a Lost Boy.

"Then go home." I said as I drew my dagger. The rest of the gang mirrored me and they encircled the twin. The twin did not move. He knew there was no escape. His only escape was reasoning with them. The twin drew breath to speak, but I had heard enough. I gouged my dagger into his face, and at the signal of my first strike, the others joined excitedly. They all pricked and stabbed and relished in striking the target. The brother did not partake, and I sensed another sacrifice coming. It would not be long that he no longer wanted to play either. Quickly, before the boys could truly examine the fallen Lost Boy, the body was tossed over the edge, not even caring to aim for the clearing. They already had their pig, and no boy wanted to run down the hill again without eating.

The smell of the roasting pig now became prominent, and the sacrifice became just a memory to be soon forgotten as the boys began to argue over their ration of the pig.

The moon rose, and the sun set as the boys played and ate and finally, slept.

I did not sleep. Something perturbed me, and kept me from dreams. The moon was full, and the island was bright with it. I stood, abandoning my gang, down to the waters.


	2. Chapter 2

I would often not sleep if my eye had caught sight on a trinket that I wanted. The body that was thrown earlier that day had been tossed away with his petticoat still on. It was adorned with all sorts of objects; buttons, golden strings, and maybe even a hidden weapon. I could not stand the others having more than me, and it was with this motivation that I silently scampered down to scavenge the best before the rest of the Lost Boys could claim any of the treasure. With light feet, a small leather rucksack, and shrewd eyes, I fought through the thickets to find the remains of the man that the pig had devoured. The petticoat was ripped apart as the animals had tried to pull the body limb from limb to make a quick escape with their rations, but the chest portion was relatively intact, as it contained the least appetizing gut parts and was the heaviest to haul away. I quickly plucked the buttons, making quick work of my theft and peeled away the layers of cloth that covered the man. Secured in a pocket closest to his heart was the trinket that I had been after. I pulled the chain to find a great weight of metal attached to it. It was exquisitely shining and round like a flat disk. It was then that I heard the soft ticking coming from inside. My heart raced as I put the object to my ear. Never before had I found such a thing. I felt my heart settle and the thing ticked just as my heart beat, and I wondered swiftly if this device contained a human heart. I played and pulled at the object to find a latch to open. To my satisfaction, it split open like a shell. One lip held the ticking device, in which a small needle meticulously made its way around the edge of the object. I watched the thing circle two or three times, watching its regular turns and feeling its tickings in my palm as if I had caught a very small bird. It was alive, and it did not run from me. It stayed warm in my palm and I felt a very precious connection to it, as if I had found a fairy. I turned my attention to the other side of the object, the shell of my ticking friend. A rough paper picture was pasted crudely to it. Almost impossible to see in the moonlight, a blonde baby smiled from the shell. It offended me. This was my Tick now, and in my claiming of it, I scraped away the face of the child with my fingernail. I pulled the string above my head and the Tick came to rest beside my other favorite object, the pistol lighter. Feeling successful and whole in my findings, I made to climb back up the mountain. A waving of white flashed in the corner of my eye and I ducked beneath the brush in alarm. I waited, and listened. The howl of wind rushed past my ears and I saw the waving of a white cloth caught in the cliff side. It enveloped a figure so pale and pure that my ears buzzed with the excitement. Cautiously I scampered from the ravine to the cliff to look up at the figure. She was high, and bright in the vines. It seemed as if she was grown from the greenery of the island, and her white gown danced and played with the cool winds of the island night. Her hair danced also, and it tickled and teased the most beautiful face that I have ever seen. As I gazed upon her face I bowed in alarm, as her eyes were open. I stared at her, watching for her reaction but she did not move.

"Hello, Lady." I said in a cautioned whisper. The wind whispered in answer and I welcomed its reply. I straightened and grinned at my new friend.

"My name is Peter." I said, louder and clearer. The wind howled again, and I imagined I could hear a wispy name float on it's back. As her hair flew from her face, I saw her head cock and her precious lips turned upright in a smile. I returned her smile and felt… enchanted. I searched for a gift to give her and as I rummaged through my artifacts, I selected some of the finest buttons in my store. I pulled the chain with the Tick from my neck, and slid buttons down its length, relishing the metallic jingle it produced. I fashioned a necklace for her, and longed to gift it to her. My Windy. The air rushed and I turned to see if I was still alone, feeling foolish for the first time if someone should see me with her. When the night did not shift, I fell again in my enchantment of her.

Abandoning my sack in the sand, I began to climb up the vines of the cliff, towards this strange and captured bird. The necklace sang and chimed in excitement as I neared the beautiful Windy bird. Finally, I came to her side, clutching a root as I peered closer to examine her. I looked to her pale a wonderful skin and I was tempted to gift her with more than a necklace. With great care, I slid the necklace over her head with my remaining hand, and then peeled her long and wisping hair out from the clutches of the chain. I felt delighted in feeling her long hair caress my skin and I played delicately with it, all the while looking at her downcast eyes in any sign that she should want to escape. She did not move, and we swayed together in the vines. I dared even to hold her body close to mine in an embrace to keep us from swinging apart. She did not resist, and as I laid my head to her chest I could her calm and regular heart beat. I began to crave something from her. I wanted her to hold me, to secure me in her arms. I looked upon her face, and I felt dejected that she did not return my affections. In an attempt to gain reciprocation, I kissed her lips delicately, but they were cold and uninviting. Hurt and embarrassed, I climbed back down. My heart racing as I saw she was looking down at me with those beautiful moonlit eyes, as she watched me walk away. I had given her my pride, and she had offered me nothing in return. As I silently made my way back into my sleeping spot in the tree, I thought of her. Her lips pressing warmly against mine, and I knew that this was not imaginary. I had felt her lips press against mine, it was a clear and striking memory. I played the thought again and again in my head as I relished the way she had held me and smiled before me. I touched my lips and felt my body in the places where we had touched, and I recounted her presence next to me. Feeling far and away from the boy who slaughtered boars I fell asleep in my day dream of the Wendy Bird.


End file.
